The Twisted Sister Affair

The sign on the door read: Lupin and Black. Investigations.

The tiny witch walked into the room and paused, looking around her. Afterwards, Remus always said that it looked as though she were evaluating everything - furniture, furnishings and the two men themselves, as if it were possible to calculate their value to the nearest Knut.

Behind the old wooden desk, Remus stood up, smiling, and extended a hand. The witch gripped it for the briefest of moments before sitting down and settling a large old-fashioned handbag carefully on her lap.

'And you are - ?'

'Remus J. Lupin. This is my, ah, partner, Sirius Black.' He gestured at the smiling dark-haired man standing to one side of the room. The witch turned her head and stared at Sirius again for a moment before turning her attention back to Remus.

'You're younger than I expected.'

He looked into hard blue eyes. 'Kind of you to say so. How can we be of assistance?'

The diminutive blonde sat upright on her chair, clutching her handbag tightly. 'My name is Copestake. Philomela Copestake.'

'Well, Mrs. Copestake - '

'Miss Copestake.'

'Miss Copestake.' Beside Remus, a quill was taking notes on a roll of parchment.

'It's my brother, Albert. I think he's been murdered.'

'How terrible for you. You must be devastated.' Remus thought he had never seen anyone who looked less devastated.

Miss Copestake produced a lace handkerchief from her handbag and dabbed at her eyes. She nodded. 'Albert and I were as close as a brother and sister could be. Our parents died when we were young, and he brought me up. I - I can't bear to think that anything has happened to him - oh dear!'

She reached for the handkerchief again and disappeared behind it.

'Albert got married and moved away. When his wife died, well, naturally, Albert came home to live with me.'

'When was this?'

'About a year ago. It was lovely to have him back home again, Mr. Lupin. He was so upset, and he needed a lot of looking after, but eventually it was as if he had never been away.'

She gulped. 'Everything was just the way it had always been. Then, out of the blue, Albert just - disappeared.'

Remus gave her an encouraging look. 'Disappeared, Miss Copestake?' Across the room, he knew without looking that Sirius was paying careful attention.

She nodded. 'He went out to work one day and never came back. Oh, I know he's dead, I just know it!' Out came the handkerchief again, and she was occupied with it for several moments this time. Finally, she tucked it briskly away in her handbag and gazed at him with wide eyes. He noticed that her make-up was unspoiled.

'Mr. Lupin, please find Albert for me. I can't sleep at night for wondering what has happened to him. I need to know that he's dead so I - I can mourn him properly.'

'We'll do our very best, Miss Copestake,' Remus said in a sympathetic tone. 'We will, of course, need you to provide us with a few details. Before we move on to that, however, I suggest you take a look at our terms. Here is a copy of our standard contract.' He passed a sheet of parchment across the desk.

The witch scrutinised the parchment for several minutes, pursing her lips. Finally, she looked up. The blue eyes had hardened again.

'That seems quite expensive.'

Remus waited.

'I only have what I earn at the Ministry, and the little bit I've managed to save. I'm not well off. I don't think you should be charging fees like this. How do I know you have the experience for the job?'

Remus smiled in regret. 'I'm afraid our fees are fixed, Miss Copestake.'

She paused, thinking hard. Finally, she said, 'Very well. You will, of course, provide me with receipts for all necessary expenses.'

'Of course.'

Once the details were finalised and the contract signed, Remus escorted their new client to the door, and showed her out. Returning to the office, he found Sirius sprawled in the chair, legs stretched out, feet on the desk. Remus removed the contract from under one booted foot and looked enquiringly at his partner.

'Well?'

'Well, what?'

'Our first client!'

Sirius nodded. 'What have we got?' He ticked the facts off on his fingers as he listed them. 'Brother Albert, disappeared, worked for the Daily Prophet, went to work last Friday, didn't come back.' He grinned at Remus. 'I know something she didn't tell you.'

'You would.'

'Albert's wife was Caroline Finch-Fletchley. It was in the Prophet a while back, when they got married.'

Remus said, wryly, 'That would explain the CFF embroidered on the hankie, then.'

Sirius' eyes widened and he stared at Remus, shaking his head in disbelief. 'No! Unreal. Suppose it saves buying new ones, though. But Albert had must have had money. The Finch-Fletchleys are rolling in it.'

'But she said she - ah!' Remus snapped his fingers in satisfaction. 'Of course! He's got it and she can't get at it.' He looked at his partner, eyes glowing in triumph. 'But if we prove that Albert's dead - '

' - she inherits straightaway. No need to wait. What a clever little detective you are.'

'Aren't I?' Remus grinned.

'The best. Well, maybe the second best.' Sirius gave Remus a sly look. 'You seemed to get on very well with the lady.'

'Mmm. Not really my type.'

'No?'

'No.'

'Think you might be hers, though.' Sirius' grin was malicious. 'I don't know how you do it. Women fall over themselves to tell you things. They did at Hogwarts, too. Must be those big eyes - '

Remus threw a cushion at him. 'I'll get down to Gringott's first thing in the morning,' he said, happily.

--

The air in the interview chamber was cool and still. A solitary dust mote danced in the beam of sunlight which spilled through the high Gothic window. The marble walls, arching gracefully towards the vaulted ceiling, were unspoiled by stains or marks, even though each elegant iron sconce contained a stubby half-burned candle. The flagged stone floor was spotless. Even the furniture had been polished until it shone with a rich red lustre.

It was a little, Remus reflected, like visiting an exceptionally tidy cathedral.

The goblin stared at him without blinking, twisting its long fingers together as it deliberated.

Remus shifted in his chair. He had been sitting here for twenty minutes or more - he didn't dare look at his watch - and still he had no idea what the goblin was thinking.

Finally the goblin seemed to come to a decision. The fingers steepled and it inclined its head to one side, considering him.

'No.'

'But - '

'No,' the goblin repeated. 'It is not Gringotts' policy to reveal such information.'

Remus leaned forward. 'You understand that I come as a representative of Sirius Black. Of the noble House of Black.'

The goblin nodded thoughtfully. 'The noble House of Black. Yes. It is our understanding that Sirius Black is estranged from his House at the present time.'

Damn, thought Remus. Oh, well. I told him it wouldn't work. He tried again. 'At the present time,' he agreed, keeping his voice neutral. 'Sirius Black is, of course, the elder son of the House of Black.'

The goblin remained impassive. 'And may one day be master of that noble House. Indeed. In which case, Gringotts will be delighted to serve Sirius Black, as it has served his House for many years.' A door swung open behind Remus. The goblin climbed down gracefully from its high chair and ushered Remus out of the interview chamber.

--

'No,' Remus said.

'No?' Sirius looked incredulous.

'No.'

'Bastards. I'll take my account away from them.' He continued in this vein for some time.

Remus waited. When the threats had ceased, he said, simply, 'The Daily Prophet?'

Sirius nodded. 'The Daily Prophet.'

--

The Daily Prophet was something of a disappointment. Remus had never been inside a newspaper office before but books he had read as a child had given him a vague expectation that there would be a sense of crisis hanging over the place, a frantic urgency as unshaven swearing wizards hurried by, beer and cigarette ash staining their robes, as they worked to meet the deadlines looming over them.

The reality was very different. The atmosphere inside the building was smooth and professional, reminding him very much of his six-monthly visits to the Ministry of Magic to renew his registration. Wizards walked briskly along the corridors, clutching pieces of paper or cups of coffee, exchanging greetings as they bumped into friends and colleagues. Their robes seemed disappointingly free of beer stains or cigarette ash.

They came to a closed door labelled Mortimore Spinks, News Editor. Sirius knocked. After a moment, the door flew open and a plump, bearded wizard in crimson robes peered out at them, yawning.

'What?'

'Mr. Spinks?'

'Yeah.'

'Can we come in? We'd like to talk to you about Albert Copestake.'

Spinks gave them a suspicious look. 'Who are you?' Remus fumbled in his robes for a business card, but his partner beat him to it, extracting one and handing it over with a flourish.

'What the - ? All right. Come in.'

This was more like it, Remus decided, looking around in satisfaction. The tiny office was in chaos. Photographs littered the desk and rolls of parchment spilled onto the ash-stained carpet. The desk drawers were closed. Remus found himself hoping there was a half-empty bottle of Ogden's in one of them.

Spinks grabbed a pile of assorted papers and clothing from a swivel chair, stuffed it into an overflowing cardboard box behind him on the floor and pushed the chair towards Remus and Sirius. Sirius gave Remus a quizzical look and sat down, pulling out his notebook and quill. Spinks sat down in a second chair, leaving Remus to stand, leaning against the desk.

'Right. Just who the hell are you?'

Sirius proffered the card again, but Spinks pushed it away, shaking his head. 'I saw that. Tells me nothing.'

'Ah.' Remus fished in his robes and dug out the letter of authorisation from their client. Spinks peered at it, scowling, then handed it back.

'Talk.'

Remus suppressed a smile. 'When did Albert last come in to work?'

'Last Friday.'

'Hasn't anyone missed him?'

'He's gone to Scotland.'

'Scotland?' Remus couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice.

Spinks nodded impatiently. 'Loch Ness. It's the breeding season. Feature article. Sunday Prophet next month.'

'When did you last hear from him?'

'Hear from him? Last Friday, of course. When I sent him to Scotland.'

'Ah,' said Remus again, not sure what else to say.

--

Sirius was shaking his head from side to side as they walked down the corridor, as if he had water trapped in his ears. Once, he looked at Remus and mouthed Mad as a hatter, then stopped abruptly. Remus raised a questioning eyebrow and then read the sign on the door behind Sirius. Gareth Mare. Albert Copestake. Velda Klopp. News & Features.

They exchanged a glance. 'Only one way to find out,' murmured Sirius with a grin, pushing the door open and walking in. Although this office was much larger than Spinks', it was crammed full of furniture. Each of the three desks had been decorated with photographs and pot plants by its owner. On the walls, posters of Puddlemere United players competed for attention with grinning centrefolds from Witch Weekly.

A young, sandy-haired wizard looked up from the roll of parchment he was studying. 'Can I help you?'

Sirius perched in an empty swivel chair, kicking another one over towards Remus. 'Is Albert Copestake around?'

'Are you friends? Funny. I thought I'd met most of his friends by now.'

'Not friends, no. We're private detectives.' Sirius handed over his business card again. The wizard glanced at it and smiled.

'Sorry. But Albert's not here. He's gone to Scotland on work. What's the problem? I'm Gareth Mare, by the way.'

'How well do you know him?' Remus spoke for the first time.

Mare shrugged. 'Well enough. We socialise a bit, out of work, you know. Go drinking together. It's a pity Velda's not here; she and Albert were close friends.'

'How close?'

'Oh, well, you know.' Mare dropped his gaze. 'I used to think they were seeing each other. But Velda said not. I think Albert might have liked to, though.' As he spoke, his fingers twisted in the maroon folds of his robes.

Remus looked around the office. 'Do you mind if we wait for Ms. Klopp?'

Mare smiled again. 'It won't do you much good. She's on holiday. Comes back in a fortnight.'

'When did she go?'

'Late last week sometime. Thursday or Friday. I think it was Thursday. I'm not sure.'

The door opened again, and a tall, middle-aged witch with glasses poked her head into the office. 'Gareth? There's a goblin at reception with a package for you. You'll need to sign for it.' Mare nodded and rose to his feet.

'Can we, er, wait here for you?' Sirius asked suddenly. 'If you don't mind answering a few more questions, that is?'

'No problem.'

As soon as Mare had left the office, Sirius leapt up from his chair, pushing the door closed. 'Quick!' he hissed. 'Search the place!'

Infected by his sudden enthusiasm, Remus began leafing through the rolls of parchment on the desks while Sirius pulled open the drawers of each desk in turn.

'Nothing here... nothing... oh, look, I used to have one of those.' He held up a Whirling Whomper. Remus ducked. 'Wonder where mine is?' He frowned for a moment, and then carried on. 'Picture of Caroline - this must be Albert's desk - or maybe it's a picture of the Loch Ness monster, hard to tell - ah! Here he comes!' He shoved something small and flat into a pocket, then closed the drawer and dived back into his chair. Remus followed suit and, when Mare re-entered the office, they were both busy writing notes in the matching black notebooks Sirius had bought because, as he said, they 'looked the part.'

--

'So, tell me.' Remus leaned forward, giving Sirius what he hoped was a menacing stare.

'Tell you what?'

'You know what.'

'You tell me what and I'll tell you.'

Remus sighed. Sirius could play this game for hours if he wanted to. 'Whatever it was you nicked from Albert's desk drawer,' he clarified.

'Oh, that.' Sirius looked at him, a picture of innocence. 'All you had to do was ask.' He fished in his pockets, produced the small, flat object Remus had seen him palm, and passed it over.

The young woman in the photograph smiled up at Remus. Her long red hair fell about her face in waves and her eyes were as blue as any sky Remus had ever seen. The green silk of her dress seemed to whisper and cling as if moved by an unseen breeze. Around her neck she wore a pendant - a miniature golden dragon with emerald eyes on a fine gold chain. As Remus watched, the dragon stretched and strutted, flexing its tiny wings. The woman lowered her head and looked up at Remus through her eyelashes. It was a seductive, secretive gaze, a gaze a woman might bestow upon a lover.

Remus looked up at Sirius. 'Wow,' he said, honestly. He turned the photograph over and read the inscription on the back. Albert. Always and forever. V.

Sirius nodded. 'Yeah. I used to think they were seeing each other. But Velda said not.' It was a perfect imitation of Mare's voice. 'So, were they lying to him or was he lying to us?'

'I wonder where she's gone for her holiday.'

'Scotland?'

'That's what I was wondering.'

--

Sirius was singing, a tuneless desolate wail. Remus hunched his shoulders and stuffed his hands more deeply into his pockets. It didn't blot out the singing, but it made him feel less cold. He pressed his back against the tree, trying to sink deeper into the bark as the wind from the loch smashed into his face and tried to tear off his clothes. I'm used to weather, he told himself. This isn't weather. This is a bloody hurricane. I'm standing here in a hurricane waiting to see a man who might be able to tell me where to find a journalist. Do other people have days like this or is it just me?

Behind him Sirius missed a note, wavered and went quiet. Thank God for small mercies, thought Remus. He uncurled himself from the tree and turned round. A dinghy had pulled up in the rocky cove and a wizard dressed in yellow oilskins was clambering out. Sirius smiled at the wizard, who was regarding him with obvious suspicion. Hardly surprising, Remus acknowledged. There can't be many days when he comes back from feeding the monsters and finds two complete strangers waiting unexpectedly for him under the only tree for miles around.

'Breeder McGhillie?'

'Aye.' The wizard turned his back on Sirius and Remus and began to strip off his drenched oilskins, throwing them into the dinghy. He is! thought Remus desperately. He's wearing tartan robes!

'I wonder if you can help us.' Sirius was on his best behaviour.

'That depends.' Divested of his oilskins, the wizard turned round again. He was a small, wiry, man, with dark brown hair and alert eyes. On the back of his left hand was a deep, angry gash, which he was sucking absent-mindedly.

'We're looking for a man called Albert Copestake. From the Daily Prophet.'

'And what would ye be wanting with him?'

'We've got a message for him, from his boss. Mortimore Spinks.'

'Aye.'

Sirius and Remus waited, not daring to speak, while McGhillie ruminated. Finally McGhillie opened his mouth and spat a wad of tobacco expertly onto the ground beside Sirius' left foot.

'No,' he said. 'There'll be nobody up here by that name.'

--

'Those robes.'

'I don't think we're very good at this.'

'Did you see them?'

'I saw them.'

'Shall I get some?'

'No.'

'We could dress up - '

'No.'

'What next?'

Remus shrugged. 'I don't know. Why do I get the feeling that everyone is lying to us?'

'Because everyone is?'

--

'I'm not satisfied, Mr. Lupin. Not satisfied at all.' Remus faced their client across the big desk. She perched on the edge of her chair, leafing through reports and expenses slips with a disapproving air. Remus sat bolt upright, trying to appear businesslike and formal, wondering why he felt as if he were back at Hogwarts again, in front of McGonagall and about to get a detention.

'I'm sorry you feel that way, Miss Copestake,' he said, with a confidence he was far from feeling. 'I can assure you we're doing everything possible to find out what happened to your brother.'

She peeled a piece of parchment from the pile in her hand and dropped it dismissively onto the desk. 'Scotland. Of course Albert isn't in Scotland!'

'Um,' said Remus. 'We, ah, interviewed his editor. He said that Albert had gone to Scotland on business. Last Friday.'

She placed the expenses slips in a neat pile on the desk and looked straight at him. The small nose twitched. 'Of course he did, the drunken fool. Albert always goes to Scotland in August. But he didn't go this year. Why do you think I asked you to investigate?'

'You seem very certain of your facts, Miss Copestake.'

'Albert always sends me an owl to say he's arrived safely. I didn't get one this time.' She sniffed. 'Has there been a dog in here?'

Only my partner, Remus thought. When he gets bored he transforms and races round the room, barking. Or maybe it's me. Once a month, I spend three nights as a werewolf. Do werewolves smell like dogs?

'No,' he said. 'No dog.'

She sniffed again. 'I'm sure I can smell dog. I'm allergic to animals.' She stood up briskly. 'I'm beginning to wonder if I made the right decision, asking you to find out what happened to my poor Albert. All I seem to be getting for my money is excuses.' She walked out, heels tapping out a brisk rhythm on the floor, and closed the door with a sharp click behind her.

Remus turned to Sirius, frowning. 'What do you think?'

'Of Little Miss Cyanide?'

'Copestake.'

'My name's better,' Sirius disagreed. 'Poison on legs.'

'Whatever.' Remus refused to be drawn. 'Is she right?'

'About what?' Sirius wandered over and ran a hand lightly down Remus' arm. Remus pulled away and walked across to the window, staring down at the busy street. The hot afternoon was cooling slowly into a lazy summer evening and the lights were coming on outside Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. All down Diagon Alley, witches and wizards were strolling along, some hand in hand, stopping now and then to peer into shop windows.

'About us,' Remus said. 'Are we just fooling ourselves? We don't seem to be getting anywhere with this.'

'Does it matter? We don't need the money.'

'I do. This isn't a game, Sirius.' He swung round, to find Sirius watching him intently. Sirius met his gaze and held it.

'No one said it was. But it's a useful cover for the Order. You know Dumbledore would pay us if he could.'

'Terrific. And how do I live in the meantime?' The question hung between them in the empty air.

Sirius was very still. 'If it's a question of needing money, you know you can always -'

'That's not what I meant.' Remus shook his head. 'I'm not going to live off your money, Sirius. Or Dumbledore's. I'm not a charity case and I don't need your help.' The words came out more strongly than Remus had intended and he knew he was being unreasonable. He didn't care.

'Moony - '

'We've had this conversation,' interrupted Remus angrily. 'No.' Sirius' lips came together in a thin, hard line, and Remus turned away, not trusting himself to speak. There was a brief silence, and then Sirius walked out, shutting the door quietly behind him. Remus stared blindly out of the window, not realising that he wasn't breathing, until he heard a door slam below and saw Sirius' slim figure appear on the street, pause for a moment and then disappear into the crowd, never looking back.

--

'This must be it.' Remus kicked an overturned milk bottle aside and looked dubiously at the scratched blue paint on the front door. He bent closer to read the cards beside each button. 'Velda Klopp. Flat 3A.' He pushed the button and waited. There was no indication that anyone had heard the distant buzzing, and, after a moment, Remus pointed his wand at the door.

'Alohomora.'

Flat 3A was on the second floor. The brightly painted scarlet door with its polished brass knocker was a pleasant contrast to the narrow stairwell and grimy landing. A pot of flowers stood on each side of the door. Remus knocked, not expecting a reply, and waited. After a pause, he reached for his wand again, but Sirius was ahead of him.

'Alohomora.'

Remus glanced sidelong at Sirius, but the other man pushed the door open and walked straight in without looking at him. Remus sighed and followed.

Velda Klopp's flat was small and extremely tidy. Won't take long to search, mused Remus, watching Sirius disappear through a door into what looked like a bedroom. He wandered into the kitchen, noticing that a small window had been left ajar and a small pile of envelopes lay on the kitchen table. He sat down and turned each one over in his hands, looking for any sign of who had sent it.

After a short time, Sirius erupted into the kitchen. 'Hey, Moony, look!' He was holding a handful of holiday brochures. He put them down on the kitchen table and pulled up a chair. The witches and wizards in the pictures waved and smiled, holding up their cocktails and pointing at the hot Mediterranean sun.

'Looks like she went abroad,' Sirius said.

'I wonder why her letters were delivered here?'

Sirius shrugged. 'Maybe the senders only paid the inland rate. Which makes sense if they thought she was going to be in Scotland. Anything interesting?' He gestured at the envelopes. Remus shook his head.

'Doesn't look like it. Bills, circulars, the last two copies of Witch Weekly. Not much else.'

'Nothing anywhere else either. Not that I could see, anyway.' He paused. 'We need to talk.'

Remus nodded. 'I know. Just - not now, Padfoot, all right?'

'Tell me why?' Being caught in the gaze of those eyes, Remus reflected, was like being caught in the beam of a lighthouse. Dazzling while you were illuminated, blinding when the beam moved on. When all of Sirius' sharp intelligence and force of personality were brought to bear on a problem, the problem didn't stand a chance.

He didn't much like being the problem.

He looked down at the envelopes in his hands again, turning them over and over as if he might find the words he was searching for written on one of them. 'I need to think things through - no, not us,' he said, as Sirius began to speak. Sirius fell silent immediately. Remus shook his head. 'You're so - so certain about things,' he continued, trying to keep his voice steady, 'and that's fine, but I don't work like that. The money situation is important to me, and I need to go away and think about the reasons why, or I'm in danger of being swept along with you when we talk about it. It's like trying to argue with a hurricane. But I agree. We do need to talk about it. Just let me think it through first?' He gave a tentative glance in Sirius' direction, knowing how inadequate his words were.

But Sirius, astonishingly, nodded and said, 'All right.' He stood up and stretched. 'Time to go? If Miss Klopp isn't on holiday, she might be a bit surprised to find two complete strangers having a heart-to-heart across her kitchen table.' He dragged a finger across the garish tablecloth. 'Gorgeous though it is.'

As they left, Remus locked the door behind them with a quick Colloportus. On impulse, he bent down and prodded the compost in one of the flowerpots. It was almost dry. Frowning, he followed Sirius down the stairs.

--

'Sirius. Sit down.'

It hadn't stopped raining all day. Sirius had worked for a while and was now pacing around the flat, obviously bored.

'What are you doing, Moony?

'Reading.' Sirius took the magazine out of Remus' hands. 'Trying to read,' Remus amended.

'Old copies of the Sunday Prophet magazine. Wild.'

'Actually,' Remus tried to make it obvious that he was speaking through gritted teeth, 'I'm reading Albert Copestake's features. He's quite a good writer. I was wondering if there was anything useful in them. You know, clues, that sort of thing. Since we are detectives. Supposed to be.'

'Oh.'

'Fancy reading some?' He waved a hand at the large pile of magazines on the coffee table.

'No.' Sirius left the room. Remus shrugged, took a sip of his tea, and continued reading.

Three minutes later, a bright orange ball rolled into the room, coming to a halt beside his left foot. Remus heard the soft padding of footsteps and looked up, just as an untidy black dog shoved its wet muzzle into his lap and looked at him with expectant blue eyes.

'You want to play.' The dog tilted its head to look sideways at him, thumping its tail gently on the carpet.

'Oh, very cute, Padfoot. Hold on a minute.' Remus closed his magazine and dumped it and the tea cup on the coffee table. He pushed the dog's head off his lap and stood up to kick the ball across the room. Padfoot bounded after it and brought it back, stopping some way short of where Remus was standing.

'Bring it here.'

The dog did not move.

Remus gave a theatrical sigh. He wagged an admonitory finger at the dog. 'Look at you,' he told it. 'One of the brightest and best students of your generation. That's what Dumbledore said, you know. Honestly. I'm ashamed of you.'

The dog cocked its head and looked at him sagely as if considering his words.

'And I bet you've got fleas.' This elicited a low growl of protest. Remus ignored it, stepping forward and bending down to retrieve the ball. 'Fleas, Padfoot, fleas! We'll have to hose you down.' He stepped back to throw the ball again, and as he did so, the dog launched itself at him, knocking him backwards. Remus grabbed the dog's shoulders and they rolled together on the floor, Padfoot snapping and growling at him as he tried to stand up.

Remus was never sure quite how the coffee table went over. One moment he was wrestling with Padfoot on the floor, the next he was sitting in a pile of Sunday Prophet magazines and the dog was backing away, covered in tea, head shaking from side to side in disapproval and suspicion. Then Padfoot was gone and Sirius was kneeling on the floor, wiping tea from his face and looking apologetic.

'Sorry, Moony, I - hey, what are you doing?'

Remus kissed him again. 'Finishing my tea.'

--

'Where did you say you were going?' Remus lay on his back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, wondering if the grin on his face was as wide as it felt.

Sirius gave a mysterious smile, tapping his nose with one finger.

'You don't want to tell me?'

'Out.' Sirius said. 'Back later,' he added helpfully.

'You don't want to tell me.'

--

'This is Dung.'

Sounds about right, Remus thought, as Sirius dragged the scruffy man into the office with an air of triumph. He stood up and gave what he hoped was a welcoming smile.

'Good to meet you, er - Dung. Tea or coffee?'

'Tea, please,' the stranger said, amiably. A casual flick of Remus' wand and hot tea was pouring from the kettle into three cups. Remus passed them round and took the opportunity to study Dung covertly while Sirius was sorting out milk, sugar and chocolate biscuits.

Dung had straggly ginger hair and pink, blotched skin. The tip of his nose was very red. He was dressed in faded grey robes so old and so scruffy that only magic could be holding them together. The scuffed black ankle boots looked as though they had not seen polish for some time. Although the watery blue eyes had seemed unfocused and bleary at first, Remus noticed how they narrowed in concentration as Dung looked round the room, his gaze settling briefly on the china cups, the silver tray and a few of the more expensive pieces of furniture.

'He's not really called Dung, of course,' said Sirius. Startled out of his reverie, Remus glanced at his partner, seeing the amusement in his eyes. He realised that Sirius had been watching him watching Dung, and was surprised to find that this annoyed him.

Dung shook his head. 'Name's Mundungus. Mundungus Fletcher.' He extended a grubby hand, clad in a fingerless black woollen glove. Remus took it gingerly. 'Friends call me Dung.'

Sirius leaned back in his chair, stretching out his long legs and pillowing his head on his hands. He grinned at Remus.

'You said something interesting the other day. You said, why is everyone lying to us?' Remus nodded. Dung was wandering around the room, picking things up here and there and scrutinising them. 'So I got thinking. Assuming everybody is lying to us, how can we check up on their stories? Short of making them all drink Veritaserum, that is. Tempting, though. And just think of the other things we could find out. We could set ourselves up as blackmailers for life.' He paused as if considering the idea. 'Anyway. Everything I've ever read about being a detective says follow the money. We didn't get anywhere at Gringotts. But then I thought of Dung. 'Cos if there's one thing Dung knows about, it's money.'

Dung put down an ugly silver urn. 'So when Sirius came to see me, I asked around a bit. Put out a few feelers, you know the sort of thing. And eventually I had it from a bloke that knows another bloke that Albert Copestake's got in deep with a gambling syndicate. He owes money to the goblins. A lot of money.'

'Go on, Dung,' put in Sirius. 'Tell him the best bit.'

Dung's grin widened, revealing stained yellow teeth. 'My mate said that another member of this gambling syndicate was Gareth Mare.'

Remus jumped to his feet. 'The lying -'

'My thoughts exactly!' said Sirius. 'I think it's time we had another little talk with Mr. Mare.'

--

'You do see my point now, Gareth, don't you? I can call you Gareth, can't I?'

Mare nodded unhappily and looked away, unable to meet Sirius' eyes.

'He owes a lot,' he said. 'An awful lot. It's not a problem for him - Albert always has loads of money - but the goblins were getting impatient. I think he had to do some fast talking.'

Sirius sighed. 'Why didn't you just tell us this last time?'

Mare paled. 'Tell you about the gambling? I'd lose my job if Spinks found out how much I owe. He's funny about editorial independence. He wouldn't like it at all if he knew half his staff were in it up to their necks with the goblins.'

'Did Velda know about the money Albert owed?'

'I think so. Yes. I'm pretty sure she did.'

'What about his sister?' Remus had not spoken before and Mare jumped at the sound of his voice.

'That bitch? He wouldn't have told her.' Mare shook his head, fidgeting with his quill. 'Except that - ' He was silent for a moment, thinking. 'Except that once I came back in here after lunch and she was in here, poking through his things. He has a little book he writes his winnings and losses in. If she saw that... ' He looked alarmed.

'Did you tell Albert what she'd been doing?'

Mare shook his head. 'No point. From what he said sometimes, she poked around at home as well. I don't think he had much privacy there.'

Sirius' eyes met Remus'. Remus gave a tiny shake of the head. Sirius stood up in one fluid motion.

'Well, thank you for your help, Gareth.' He smiled, a brilliant, humourless flash of white teeth. 'It's been a pleasure.'

--

They walked back to their offices together in silence. Remus was deep in thought. Occasionally he glanced at Sirius, who seemed similarly preoccupied. Remus sat down behind the big old desk and Sirius took up his customary position leaning against the bookshelves at the side of the room.

'If Philomela knew - '

'How much money - '

Both burst out laughing. 'You first,' said Sirius.

Remus grinned at him. 'If Philomela knew about the gambling, why didn't she mention it to us in the first place?'

Sirius' response was immediate. 'Because it gives her a motive.'

'And the goblins,' said Remus. 'Don't forget the goblins. They have a motive as well.'

Sirius shook his head. 'Forget the goblins. I've never heard of anybody who's actually been killed by goblins. Turned into a hatstand, yes. Happened to my Uncle Alphard. Very embarrassing. But not killed. Anyway, how would killing him help them get their money back?'

'It wouldn't.'

'How much money has he lost, anyway?'

'Or, how much money has he got left?'

'Exactly!'

'Whichever way you look at it,' mused Remus, 'it does seem to come back to Philomela.'

'Maybe we should pay her a visit.'

--

'She's out.'

'Sorry?' Remus turned round, startled.

'I said, she's out.' The witch poked her head further out of the door, eyes widening as she looked at Sirius and Remus. Remus' eyes flickered towards Sirius, but Sirius was way ahead of him, smiling brightly and focusing all his attention on the witch as if she were the only woman in the world.

'You must be her neighbour.' He extended a hand. She waddled out of the cottage and shook it, holding on longer than Remus felt strictly necessary. She was middle-aged with dark curly hair and rosy cheeks, and wore a sprigged floral housecoat in garish pink and yellow over plain grey robes.

'Myrtle McCluskey.' She beamed at him. 'Have you come far today?' Sirius nodded. 'Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?'

'That's extremely kind of you, Miss - '

'Myrtle.'

'Myrtle. Thank you. We'd love a cup of tea, wouldn't we, Remus?'

Are you sure I'm invited? 'Definitely. Thank you.' Remus managed a smile, knowing it wasn't in Sirius' league.

Myrtle's pink fluffy mules clattered on the tiled floor as she led them into a cosy kitchen, decorated gaily in blue and yellow, and produced tea and an enormous home-made chocolate cake, chatting amiably the whole time.

Twenty minutes later, as they staggered to the door, she gave each of them a friendly peck on the cheek and said goodbye.

'I hope you catch up with Philomela soon, poor thing. I am so sorry about her cat.'

Sirius stiffened. 'What cat?'

Myrtle looked downcast. 'The one she buried in the garden last week, under the cherry tree. Poor thing. She bought a kitten a few weeks ago, but it turned out sickly. She kept it inside the house. I never saw it.'

'Odd,' murmured Remus, as they walked away, 'that a woman who is allergic to animals should buy a kitten as a pet.'

'Just what I was thinking. I wonder what's really buried under the cherry tree?'

'I wonder which one is the cherry tree.'

'Good point.'

--

Easy to see why they always choose a full moon for this in books, thought Remus, as he huddled under the cherry tree listening to the scrabbling and panting sounds Padfoot always made when he was digging. The moon was a faint sliver tonight, covered intermittently by clouds as a high wind chased them across the night sky. Remus was glad that Padfoot could see so well by starlight; the dog had led him unerringly to the correct tree, and, although Remus had sustained some bangs and scrapes along the way, he knew that it would have been much worse without Padfoot's night vision. He cursed softly as the dog's enthusiastic digging sprayed yet another shower of earth and pebbles over his robes. The Silencing charm was obviously working; no-one had come out to ask them what they were doing so far.

Finally the great black dog gave a triumphant growl and scrambled backwards out of the hole, holding a large canvas bag between its teeth.

'Nice work, Padfoot,' hissed Remus. 'Now let's get out of here.'

--

The August sun picked out the names engraved on the frosted glass. Lupin and Black. Investigations.

'Miss Copestake. I'm so glad you could make it.'

'Mr. Lupin. Your owl said you had some news for me?' She sat down in front of the big desk as she had done on her first visit, positioning herself with exaggerated care. 'Have you found out any more about - about Albert?' Her lower lip trembled.

'I think we have, yes. I'll let Mr. Black here give you the details.' Remus took a step back as Sirius moved forward.

'Well, Miss Copestake,' he began in brisk, businesslike tones, 'I'm happy to tell you that we have indeed located your missing brother.'

'Oh, Mr. Black! So soon!' she cried. 'And is he - is he -?'

'Dead? I'm afraid so, Miss Copestake.'

She burst into quiet sobs, rubbing her eyes. When she looked up a few moments later, her eyes were very red. But then, Remus reflected, rubbing them would do that.

'Where is he, Mr. Black?' she asked in a trembling voice.

'Right here,' Sirius replied cheerfully, 'in this bag.' He dumped a canvas bag on the desk.

That she recognised the bag was obvious and, for a moment, everything seemed to freeze. Then she hissed with anger and, suddenly, her wand was in her hand.

'You filth,' she said, her voice lower and more calm than Remus had ever heard it before. 'You've been digging up my rubbish.'

Remus glanced at Sirius for inspiration and saw that his partner had no idea what to do, either. We should have thought this through a bit more carefully, he told himself. Silly to suppose we'd just confront her and she'd burst into tears and confess. Never mind. We'll get it right next time.

If there is a next time.

Philomela Copestake pulled the bag towards her. 'I'll take this,' she said. 'I'll have to bury it again. Only this time it might be a little heavier.'

'At least tell us why,' Sirius said.

'Tell you why? I should have thought that was obvious. You know too much.'

'Not that why,' said Sirius, impatiently. 'Why you killed your brother.'

She shrugged. 'I had no choice. He was ruining the family name.'

Sirius stared at her. 'He was ruining the family name,' he repeated.

She nodded. 'Marrying the Mudblood was bad enough. You have no idea what I had to put up with after that. Dinner invitations that never came. Old school friends, cutting me dead in the street. Then he took up with that trollop - that journalist friend of his. He didn't even bother to keep it secret. And then the gambling. He was just throwing that money away. He had no right.'

'Wait a minute.' Remus was thinking hard. 'Caroline Finch-Fletchley was seven months pregnant when she died - '

'It wouldn't have been a pureblood, though, would it?' Sirius shook his head. 'A halfbreed, carrying the family name. Unthinkable.'

'According to the Prophet, she fell downstairs.' He looked at Philomela. 'She didn't fall, did she?'

Blue eyes met his own, as hard and cold as chips of ice. 'He had no right,' she said again.

She raised the wand, pointing it at Remus. 'I'm told it doesn't hurt,' she said. Remus was aware of Sirius tensing beside him, poised on the balls of his feet, and knew with a sickening certainty that the other man was about to throw himself in front of the wand. Don't, he begged silently, trying to stare his partner down, but there was no hint of concession in Sirius' eyes, only an angry determination.

And then several things happened at once. Sirius dived. Remus threw himself forward, knocking Sirius out of the way. From across the room came a sudden flash of silver, followed by a high-pitched shriek and a thud. As the wand flew out of Philomela's hand, Remus hurled himself across the desk, carrying her with him to the ground.

She twisted under him, biting his hand viciously as he tried to restrain her. Remus slapped her once, hard, across the face, then pinned her under him as she fought for breath. Across the room, Sirius was picking up her wand.

As grey dust settled over everything, a scruffy figure crawled unsteadily out from behind the sofa.

'Sorry,' said Mundungus Fletcher. 'I was aiming for her head.' He peered muzzily at the silver urn lying on the ground. 'I hope it's not dented.'

'Good God,' said Sirius, staring at the urn as if seeing it for the first time. He gestured at the grey powder coating everything. 'Remus - I don't believe you've met my uncle Alphard?'

--

'They'll be here in about ten minutes.' Remus removed his head from the flames and stood up. 'She'll be coming out of that Stunning Spell soon. Are you sure she's harmless?'

Sirius looked at him in irritation. 'She's tied up and I've got her wand in my pocket. Of course I'm bloody sure.'

'Good.' Remus relaxed a fraction.

There was a knock at the door.

'That was fast,' said Sirius. 'Come in!'

The door was pushed open and a burly, dark-haired wizard shuffled in, looking around him with a hesitant air. As he saw the woman lying bound on the floor his face darkened in anger and he turned towards Sirius, reaching for his wand. Sirius dived at him, bringing him to the ground. There was a brief, undignified scuffle, which ended up with Sirius sitting on top of the visitor.

Wonderful, thought Remus. We just needed this. 'Albert Copestake? I'm Remus Lupin. Glad you could make it.'

Sirius stared, open-mouthed. The newcomer nodded. 'I'm Albert Copestake. You sent me an owl. What the hell are you doing with my sister?' He struggled, scowling at Sirius. 'Get off me, you lunatic!'

'Sirius,' Remus said calmly, 'I think it's time we, ah, let the cat out of the bag.' He picked up the canvas bag and tipped the contents onto the desk. He looked for a moment at the tiny skeleton, then raised his wand.

'Finite Incantatum.'

The bones began to swell, slowly at first and then more quickly, changing shape until it was no longer the skeleton of a cat which lay on the desk but a human, adult and whole. Around the neck, something glinted and twisted in the late afternoon sun. Remus used his wand to catch it and pull it up into view.

It was a tiny dragon with on a golden chain.

'It had to be Velda,' Remus said evenly, as they stared at the jewelled dragon. 'Nobody knew where she was, you see. We were looking for Albert, but it was Velda who had disappeared. Albert was in Scotland the whole time.'

'In Scotland?' Sirius gaped.

'Oh yes. It's all in those old copies of the Prophet... Albert's done a lot of features on the Loch Ness monster - you told McGhillie to lie, I take it?' He turned to Albert, who nodded.

'I did. There's trouble every year with other journalists, trying to get a scoop. But they don't know where Nessie is, and she doesn't trust them. She trusts me... and this time, I wanted time on my own, to think.' He rubbed a hand back and forwards across his forehead, staring at the desk, lost in thought.

'You didn't send your sister an owl,' Remus prompted gently.

'No. Not this time. I'd had enough of her. I was going to get away...' He looked down at the skeleton and a shadow passed over his face. 'I was going to ask Velda to marry me.' He reached out and stroked the tiny dragon once, then let it fall.

'Did you tell her that?'

Albert Copestake shook his head. 'We had a row. About Philomela. About my bloody sister. As usual.'

Remus sighed. 'And you went up to Scotland, leaving Velda behind, and she finally lost her patience with your interfering sister.' He looked at Albert. 'This is what I think happened.

'Velda took Polyjuice Potion. She went round to the cottage to have it out with your sister - to say the things you couldn't, or wouldn't, say yourself. She told Philomela you were going to move out and marry her.

'She had no idea what a mistake that was.' He looked at Philomela. 'You killed her. But you thought you'd killed Albert. It has to be Polyjuice. It's the only thing which makes sense.'

She glared at him. If looks could have killed, Remus knew he would have dropped dead on the spot.

Sirius took up the story. 'And then you started thinking. If you could prove your brother had disappeared, you could get your hot little hands on his money. So you came to us. You had a good case - you thought Albert was dead, and it wasn't likely that anyone would ever find his body. All you needed was for someone to start asking the right questions in the right places. But, unfortunately for you, you'd killed the wrong person.'

She scowled at them, face twisted in fury. 'She deserved it.'

'Yeah.' Sirius shrugged, looking at Albert. 'Magical Law Enforcement should be here soon.'

'Did someone say Magical Law Enforcement?' Remus could have sworn that Dung had gone slightly pale. 'Time I was off. Er... got to see a man about a canary.'

'Hang on!' Sirius grabbed Dung's shoulder. 'What exactly were you doing in our office anyway?'

Dung looked shifty. 'Oh, you know. Was in the area, thought I'd pop round.'

'And that's why you were hiding under an Invisbility Cloak when we came in. Of course.'

'Well, you never know... you might have been burglars.'

'How did you get in?' Remus asked with interest.

'Someone must have left the door unlocked.'

'Ah.'

Dung bent down and picked up the Invisibility Cloak, letting it flow backwards and forward through his hands like water. 'Better return this to Moody,' he mumbled, 'don't want him to find out it's gone.'

--

'Well?' Sirius sprawled on the sofa, head back, looking very satisfied with himself and watching Remus through half-closed eyes.

'Well, what?'

'Well, my lovely Moony, what do you think?'

Remus considered. 'Not too bad. We solved the murder - '

'You solved the murder.'

'You nearly got yourself killed.'

'Is that good or bad?' Sirius demanded, straightening up. Remus cocked his head, pretending to think.

'I haven't decided yet.'

Sirius snorted. Remus ignored him and continued.

'We caught the murderer.'

'Got our client arrested, you mean.'

'And we're going to get paid.'

'By the person whose murder we were investigating.'

'Minor details.' Remus sat down on the sofa next to Sirius, and wriggled round to face him. 'We'll just have to do better next time.'

Sirius turned and caught Remus' face between his hands, pulling him down. 'Because some things,' he said, 'just get better with practice.'

1